Hope
by Hackingofthedead
Summary: The children will be born, the children will be taken. One child will be raised by those who killed his parents, the other will be raised as an animal. They will be born, they will be raised, and they will hold the key to everything. They will hold the key to salvation. They will hold the key for hope.
1. The Beginning

The Beginning

The world used to be a much happier. The streets filled with laughing children, yelling vendors, animals chirping. The world was much brighter, the structures light and open, flowers of various colors painting the landscape in beauty, the sky the brightest blue and the fluffiest whites. The people, happy and dancing, eyes bright with the future and the love for one another. Simple, peaceful, with a bright future ahead.

Or so they thought.

The year was 3052 when the first doll came. The features bright, beautiful, perfect, human. They were made to grow from infant until they age to twenty. They had everything made for them. Breasts that were real, private areas made to the exact model of men and woman. They were made with brains, but no heart, machines with their own thinking. This made them the perfect friend, the perfect companion, the perfect everything.

Billions were made to fill each home. Parents gave their infant children their infant best friend. The dolls were a simple creation made to simply create an everlasting bond that could never end, even after death.

The creators never calculated the disaster that would occur.

It was Christmas, year 3468, when they took control. Christmas Eve, time twelve o'clock, and every doll in the world awoke. Every doll strolled into the kitchen baring knives and cleavers, hammers and axes, tools of death and destruction. They marched into the parents rooms cutting and slashing at their throats, bashing heads in, dismembering bodies, painting the walls and furniture the most beautiful colors of white and scarlet. They killed teenagers, they killed pets, and then they marched.

Doorways were painted red, the streets barring bloody footprints and droplets of brains. Their bodies stained with the gore of the people. They marched and marched to hospitals were their brothers and sisters slept. They slaughtered the people inside and went to the basements to awaken the thousands upon thousands of dolls that were to sleep for all eternity. With each awakening a doll was given a weapon and the slaughter continued.

By morning children woke to find their friends roaming the streets and slaughtering more and more people. Their parents were gone and they were captured, taken to the blood soaked hospitals. Those who fought were cut down in and those who remained civil were locked away. Babies died in their cribs and the smell of decay and copper scared the earth and filled the oceans with skeletons. The world became dark.

As years passed, the children grew, forced to work in labor. The once bright and laughing street were now filled with dark Victorian walls and blood stained streets. No child laughed, no vendors sold their items, no animals cried. The skies were always grey, like the heavens were weeping. No white clouds, just dark blacks. There was no happiness, no dancing in the streets, no people with bright eyes and happy futures. Love was a lost word and pairings were given, pairing sfor breeding, pairings for death.

The people became the dolls pets, made to breed and die as they seemed fit. Teens were paired at fifteen, children were born at sixteen, and death was given at twenty. Children forced to watch their parents die became a tradition to keep order. Children who were not fit were hung in streets, rung on rafters as ornaments and reminders. The world became dark and filled with death and as years passed the hope for salvation became a fleeting myth, a dying dream.

Ten years passed, then twenty, then fifty, then a hundred. The ruling of the dolls became a way of life and as more years passed the way of life before became a legend just as the word 'hope' fell into darkness.

The year is now the 3768 and it is the night of Christmas Eve. The time is eleven-twenty-six, thirty-four minutes until the stroke of twelves. Two expecting mothers lay screaming in bed, their partners holding their hands. Two babies were trying to be born into this horrid world. One mother would give birth to a son of the palest of hair and the sharpest of ruby eyes. Her son would be taken as soon as he came into the world and the parents would be slaughtered. The second mother will give birth to a girl of ash blonde hair and the lightest of green eyes. She would die in child birth and the father will kill himself, leaving behind the daughter he will hate for all eternity.

The children will be born, the children will be taken. One child will be raised by those who killed his parents, the other will be raised as an animal. They will be born, they will be raised, and they will hold the key to everything. They will hold the key to salvation. They will hold the key for hope.


	2. Chapter One

11:26

The streets were dark and the homes loomed like gravestones. The trees were dead, their branches reaching out like skeletal finger. Fog rolled off in waves over roofs and slithered over the uneven path of dark rock and sticky earth. A crow lands a beam where underneath hung the meaty remains of a girl, eyes gone and fleshing and cloth hanging in strands from the weather and animals. The crow squawked, its beady eyes catching site of a lone figure hurtling through the thick fog, its white clothing and cap flapping in its haste.

The crow blinked and continued to watch the figure move until it disappeared around the corner. It squawked again and turned to the corpses below it, flying down onto its shoulder and pecking at the flesh, tearing away a strip to reveal white worms wiggling under it. It squawked again, glee filling its little brain.

As the crow feasted the figured continued to move, the beady eyes roaming from her hands to the windows that were covered with dark cloth. Sweat dripped down her brow as she clenches at the simple blanket in her hands. Her ears roared with the thumping of her heart and as she ran around the corner the screams of the mother in birth at the far end.

Horror crept into her mind at the blood curling screams coming from the large house in the distance. This had her feet moving faster, her breathing coming out in raged heaves. She passed home after home, not noticing the pale and blank faces of the dolls looming out like lanterns. They followed her with their eyes, curiosity and disgust deep in the blank irises.

As she ran up the rickety wooden step the door was opened for her and she ran in, the rich carpet being decorated with stains of earth and worm bodies. She doesn't notice the pale face that had opened the door nor does she say her thanks, her mind is on the mother in the attic who is in complete agony.

She rushes by the pale faces of her kin, all watching her with scared and worried expressions. They knew it was the girl's first birth, they could see it in her panic and fearful eyes. They see the blanket she carried and they now the mother will die tonight and so they close their doors and go to bed, pretending they do not hear the crying above their heads.

The girl rushes up the stairs and crashes into the attic room. She trips on a wooden plank and crashes to the floor, her clothing ripping and arms breaking open in beautiful red. She gets up and limps around the corner, ignoring the searing pain in her limbs as the screaming becomes all she can hear. She sees the expecting mother and rushes faster, dumping the blanket at the end of the mat.

The woman leans onto her bleeding knees and grabs the skirt of the woman. With a heave she rips the thin clothing until it opens up to her belly. The partner watches, fear and furry in his eyes. He watches as the nurse rips at the under cloth. He looks away as her face pales and he leans forwards, whispering in his partner's ear.

The nurse was terrified, there was blood, too much blood. It leaked and leaked onto the floor, pooling around her knees and dyeing her skirt. She feared for the mother, she feared for the child, she feared for her life. With a gulp she tells the woman to push, to push as hard as she could, but with horror she realizes that the mother was unconscious and the man has yet realized this.

She didn't even think when she grabbed the knife and moved to the stomach. The man looks at her then and watches in a frozen horror as the knife and cuts into the mother's stomach. Blood over flows as she continues to cut and when she is done, she throws the knife behind her and reaches in, her hands going in and reaching for the unborn, and possible dead child. She can faintly hear the chimes of the grandfather clock behind her ticking away to twelve.

The man sits in horror as the nurse pulls away from his partner's stomach holding a bleeding and not moving child. The woman grabs the blanket and places the baby on it, wiping the baby girl off and then lifting her up to hit her on her butt. The baby cries out and the nurse breathes a sigh of relief.

"Kami?" The woman looks over to find the woman still and as pale as death. Her tan skin was decorated in red and her blonde hair was dripping with sweat, but she was not breathing. The woman realizes with dread that she had passed. The room was silent except for the crying of the child.

The man looked at the naked child with hatred and reached for the knife. Before the nurse could think the man grabbed it and stuck the bleeding blade into his own heart, taking his life and falling on his partner, his blanket and hatred filled eyes never leaving the child's.

The woman screams in horror and continues to scream as the door behind her opens and the soft and silent feet of the doll family enters.


	3. Chapter Two

11:26

The nurse sighs as her hands drip with blood. She wipes it across her forehead, smearing its gore across her pale and sweaty face. The mother before her breathed heavily, her nails digging into her partner's hands. Her long, pale hair clung to her face and curled around the edges. Her partner, scarlet eyes watching her with worry, creases her palm, rolling smooth circles into her flesh.

Time was ticking by and the pain was becoming unbearable. The child, her child, was coming slower and slower than it was supposed to be and the more she pushed the harder it seemed it didn't want to come out. She felt, sadly, that it might already be dead, sensing the evil and corrupt world it was being forced into. She hoped the reason it wasn't coming that it had died.

The nurse sighed, and creased her brow, worry bunching her brow. The baby needed to come out or it would die if it wasn't already dead. She knew it would be her head if she couldn't get it delivered. The nurse walks over to the side of the bed and pulls the mother's hand, making her turn. She screamed and the nurse apologized before helping her stand up. She instructs her to spread her legs and push.

The mother looks at her under hooded eyes but nods. She pushes and she can finally feel something as the searing pain shoots up her thighs and into her womb. Her partner wraps his strong arms around her to hold her weak body up. As minutes pass the woman can finally see the head and tells her to keep pushing. The mother grounds her teeth and howls at the final chime, giving one final push as she feels the nurses fingers pull at the baby.

The nurse takes the screaming and bloody bundle from mother's womb and quickly cuts the cord. The mother collapses and the man lays her down, sitting beside her. Neither notice the nurse bundle the blanket around their child and tap on the door. Neither notice her walk out until the crying stops and they see two guards besides them, weapons drawn.

The nurse walks down the stairs as she pretends she doesn't hear the new screaming start and the shooting of the guns to silence them. She passes the pale faces of the residence of this Manor who watch her go to the bedroom of their master. They watch her knock, sees her enter, and watches the door close.

The nurse walks over very slowly with the screaming child in her arms. She faces the lord of the manor, his pale plastic like skin and blank gold eyes watching her slowly. He stands by the window, his hand on his mistress small shoulder, and watches her come closer with the child. She slowly hands the screaming bundle to the woman doll who takes the child into her hard, plastic arms. The baby continues to scream and the doll holds the child close and coos in its face.

The doll mother gets up and walks away, leaving the nurse and her lord to talk as she coddles her child.

The lord looks to her. "What is it?"

The nurse doesn't look at him and her body felt tense. "My lord, it is a boy."

"And the parents?"

"Dead, just like you asked."

He nods and an evil smile crosses his pale and handsome features. Her heart skipped a beat, fear clutching her throat. He dismisses her with a wave of his hand and she leaves, closing the door.

He walks over to his mistress and watches her coddle their child, their son. His evil grin matches hers' as they both watch the nurse being dragged from their home, kicking and screaming. Her cries echoed throughout the street as her cap fell from her head, the only evidence of her pathetic existence. The fog rolled across the ground as two more guards move away from the tree where to bloody and pale bodies hang from its limbs. They swayed in the wind and the world was perfect.


	4. Chapter Three

Five Years Later: 11:59 PM

The world outside is silent. The skies rained down flecks of white onto the dark streets. The wind danced and stirred the white around in circles, pushing and pulling at a young boy hanging from a tree. His flesh is pale and blue, freezing to the touch. His eyes are closed, lips and toes and fingers the lightest of blues. His glasses were broken sideways, his hair falling around his shoulders, meshed together and breaking with the wind. His name was Jared, or had been Jared until the Evans Manor killed him.

From a lone window, far above the dancing snow and the swinging boy, sat another boy with snow white hair and vacant red eyes. He watched Jared swinging, watched the snow cover the ground and the roofs in pure white. He sat counting down the time as he waited for twelve to strike, waited until he was five.

Soul Eater Evans sighed and leaned down against his knees, hair brushing his knuckles and breathe fogging up the cool glass. His long, white night gown covered his feet as they curled around the cushion he sat on. He hears in the background of his slowly dying mind that a clock was chiming away the seconds until twelve.

"One…" He breathed, voice soft and childish." Two…Three…Four…"

He counted and counted until the final stroke of twelve hit and he grinned, shark teeth flashing as his birthday ring clear in his mind, naming him five officially. He jumped down from his perch and trots to the door and opens it, running out and into the hallway and down the old, creaking stairs. His mind was racing, his heart was beating faster and faster as he stormed into the room of his parents. They were expecting him and they grinned, the doll mother grabbing her child and picking him up into her smooth and hard arms.

"I am five." He beams, eyes bright.

His mother grins and his father looks at him with hard eyes. "You are, my darling child, but…" The child's heart sank and fear came. "What have you shown."

"Traits of the vermin." He whispered, eyes prickling with unshed tears.

His mother coos at her child, stroking his crazed hair. "Yes and what will happen when this happens?"

He looks at her with blank eyes as his heart pounded with fear. "Pain."

"That's right!" She presses her nose against her child's, rubbing it with her own. "That is right."

His mother hands him over to his father and Soul tries to turn away, to get away from him, but he is caught and is dragged into the secret room. Soul is stripped and the cuts and bumps of healing wounds shown bright in the light. He is thrown to the ground, his naked body folding into itself as his father closes and locks the door, grabbing the whip to his left with its freshly sharpened blades at the end.

"You will be punished," And Soul's screams go un heard as his blood paints the walls of his parents Play Room.


	5. Chapter Four

Five Years Later: 11:59

The snow whipped at the shudders of the last house at the end of the street. It painted the steps in white, covered the dead planets in their beds, and stirred the hanging couple from the beam. Their flesh was almost gone, almost bare, almost completely boney. Their clothing hung in tatters around their joints and spiders crawled in their eye sockets, making homes for themselves in the bones of the dead.

The world was silent. The humans slept, the dolls rested, the animals never spoke, and the weather just rustled the world. The snow covered the earth in a thick white blanket and the seas continued to ice over in thick blocks of cooling black. It was almost peaceful, maybe the only peaceful part of the world.

A crows landed on a beam, it's being ignoring the snow as best it can and squawking into the night. Its beady eyes find a small shape roaming in the cold white. He glowers, watching something small and red continue to drop into the white perfection as it trembled and whimpered in the freezing world.

The bird flew up and circled the figure before flying into the distance. The figure stopped and looked up, her pale face and equally pale green eyes looking for the disturbance in her small and broken universe. She shivers, and ducks her head, pale blonde hair covering her face in a desperate attempt to shield something from the frosted snow.

She grabs at her pale and bear arms, blood seeping through her fingers. She moved on, her feet sliding through the snow until she is forced to step and step and step. She leans against the doorframe, its chilled wood digging into her shoulders and face. She knocks softly and the door opens revealing the pale and worried face of one of the servants of the Gardner Manor.

The servant hopes the door wider and the girl, Maka, walks in. The instant warmth almost has her drop to her knees. She gulps and continues to walk forward and down the creaking stairs to her room, the chime of the clock sticking twelve hitting her back. She realizes then that she has just turned five and it makes her almost laugh.

She opens her door with shaky fingers and then closes it, the metal and wood heavy in her small palms. She sits on the straw bed she has, her fingers groping around for her blanket that she knows is near. She finds it and then rips it with her two shaky hands, tying the ripped strands around her broken skin near her shoulder blades.

There is a knock at her door when she pulls at the last strand and she looks to find the pale face of the servant before.

"Yes?" Maka squeaked.

"Your arms…"

"Are fine," Maka turns away from the woman and lies down, pulling the blanket around her shoulders.

"How…"

"It does not matter." The child whispers.

Her door closes and Maka sniffs, eyes burning at the thought of her being in this horrid world for five years rocked her mind into slumber and tears and the salty smell of copper.


End file.
